Classic Poem

From Brighton two Paddies walk'd under the cliff,
For pebbles and shells to explore;
When lo! a small barrel was dropp'd from a skiff,
Which floated at length to the shore.

Says Dermot to Pat, " We the owner will bilk,
To-night we'll be merry and frisky,
I know it as well as my own mother's milk,
Dear joy! 'tis a barrel of whisky. "

Says Pat, " I'll soon broach it, O fortunate lot!
(Now Pat, you must know, was a joker,)
I'll go to Tom Murphy, who lives in the cot,
And borrow his kitchen hot poker.

'Twas said, and 'twas done — so the barrel was bored,
(No Bacchanals ever felt prouder,)
When Paddy found out a small error on board,
The whisky, alas! was gunpowder!

With sudden explosion he flew o'er the ocean,
And high in air sported a leg;
Yet instinct prevails when philosophy fails,
So he kept a tight hold of the keg.

But Dermot bawl'd out, with a terrible shout,
" I'm not to be chous'd, Master Wiseman;
If you do not come down, I'll run into the town,
And, by Jasus, I'l tell the exciseman. "